On Laughton Moor

by On Laughton Moor (epub)

  ‘Catherine? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. I thought you’d be too busy.’

  Catherine smiled. ‘I’m having a bit of a break.’

  ‘Where are you? It doesn’t sound like the station.’

  ‘No, I’m… I’m out. We’ve had a few developments.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. I’m just waiting around while we follow up on a few leads.’

  ‘Can’t you come back and wait around with me?’ Claire laughed, and Catherine wished she was back in the hotel room.

  ‘I’d love to,’ she said. ‘Not sure DI Knight would agree though.’

  ‘We will meet up later? If you can?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘I really enjoyed last night, you know,’ Claire said softly.

  ‘I did too. Claire, I’m really sorry, I’m going to have to go. I’m expecting some callbacks. I just wanted to say hello.’

  ‘I’m glad you did. I’ll see you later then.’

  Catherine sat smiling to herself.

  Chapter 53

  Kendrick was pacing. Knight was surprised to see the dark blue carpet tiles in his office didn’t have a path worn through them.

  ‘You’re telling me we’ve still no suspect?’

  ‘We’ve lots of suspects; it’s narrowing them down that we’re struggling with. We’ve still nothing on Mike Pollard, Kelly Whitcham, anyone,’ said Knight.

  Kendrick rounded on him. ‘That’s right, Inspector, make a joke. It’s just the time to try to be funny. Christ, you’ve been telling me the same thing since Pollard was killed. Following leads, questioning people and here we are, days later, and all you’ve got to show for your efforts is another dead body and two of his mates flat on their backs in the hospital. Not exactly Sherlock Holmes, are you?’

  ‘I never said I was. You know as well as I do that this case was never going to be easy.’

  ‘Have we made any progress at all? That’s what the Super’s going to want to know and that’s what the press will be asking. It’s only a matter of time before Bowles’ suicide attempt and the attack on Brady are front-page news. We’ve had some calls already.’

  ‘Only to be expected.’

  Kendrick exploded. ‘For God’s sake, Jonathan, do you actually care that this whole investigation is well on its way to becoming a national joke? We’ll probably be held up as an example of how not to run a murder enquiry to new recruits. If you came up here to resurrect your career, you’ve a strange way of going about it.’

  Knight’s eyes narrowed. ‘I wasn’t aware my career needed resurrecting, as you put it. I came here as a transfer, not a demotion.’

  ‘Come on. I bet you thought life up here would be a piece of piss compared to London. Well, you were wrong. You’ve been thrown in at the deep end and it seems to me that at the moment you’re struggling to stay afloat.’

  Staring at him, Knight got to his feet. Does anyone really talk like that? he thought. Kendrick sighed, gestured to Knight to sit back down. When he spoke again, his voice was soft.

  ‘I know this case is a bastard. These messages that have been left… I don’t see what they’re supposed to tell us. That’s probably the point. Either way, you know how it is. The Super’s on at me for progress because she’s being pressured from higher up, the press is haranguing everyone, we’ve got nothing to show for all our man hours, we’ve uncovered a people-trafficking gang that we’ve so far no chance of breaking and to top it off, somehow we’ve got mixed up with the Hughes family, which isn’t where we want to be. We need to close this case soon, before the whole force becomes a laughing stock.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Catherine Bishop?’

  ‘She’s fine, coping well.’ Knight had his own ideas about what Catherine had been up to, but he wasn’t going to share them with Kendrick.

  ‘We’re expecting Bowles at least to be ready to talk soon?’

  ‘Hopefully.’

  ‘I’ll want an update later on.’

  Knight realised he was dismissed. As he left Kendrick’s office and headed to his own, he stopped by a window that gave a view of the street below. It was a grey day, murky and miserable. Through the gloom, Knight thought he could see the car that he’d thought was following him earlier. He could even make out a figure in the driver’s seat, but as the car was parallel parked, there was no chance of seeing the number plate. His usual caution deserting him, Knight strode down the stairs and out into the car park. Taking the narrow path between the police station and the old post office building next door led him back onto the street, just behind the car. Stepping back into the alleyway, he gave the number plate to his colleagues in control, who told him the car belonged to a national hire company.

  Back in his office, Knight found the phone number of their head office, and after a few more minutes was staring down at the name of the company who’d hired the car out in London. It was one he knew well; he’d seen it several times during his life in the capital. Huggy’s Cabs. It didn’t take much imagination to substitute Huggy’s for Hughes’ and then the picture became clearer. One of Malc Hughes’ many taxi companies. It was no surprise to find his new friend was part of Hughes’ gang. In the corridor, Knight took another peek out of the window. The car was still there. Retracing his steps down through the alley and around to the back of the car, Knight crept as close as he dared. A woman waiting for a bus on the opposite side of the road watched curiously. Standing at a bus stop seemed a good idea, less conspicuous, so Knight made his way across to stand in the bus shelter, making sure the occupant of the car could only see his profile.

  ‘It’s okay, I’m a police officer,’ he told the woman, showing his warrant card discreetly. She visibly relaxed.

  ‘You just never know these days. You hear such stories,’ the woman said. Knight nodded. He still couldn’t see the figure in the driving seat clearly.

  ‘Fuck it,’ Knight said audibly, causing the woman beside him to gasp ‘Charming!’

  He marched across the road, up to the car and hammered on the driver’s window. The man inside had a baseball cap pulled low over his brow, but Knight caught a glimpse of his face as he instinctively turned towards the noise. Paul Hughes. Hughes, panicking, wrenched the car into gear and sped away. Knight stood in the road, hands on hips. Interesting. No doubt here to do some dirty work for his dad. A car slowed to pass him, the driver angrily gesticulating, and Knight made his way back to the pavement. As he reached it, his phone started ringing. Catherine Bishop.

  ‘You better get back here, sir. Bowles is awake.’

  ‘Lucid?’

  ‘Chattering away to the nurses. He doesn’t know I’m here yet.’

  ‘Don’t let him find out.’

  Chapter 54

  David Bowles was sitting up in bed flicking through a dog-eared magazine as Knight and Catherine approached.

  ‘Any good knitting patterns?’ asked Catherine, nodding at Bowles’ reading material. He threw it down, blushing.

  ‘One of the nurses brought it for me. Who are you?’

  Bowles was still pale, his voice slightly husky. Catherine wondered if this was a result of whatever they’d had to do to get all the whisky and paracetamol out of his system. Perhaps he always sounded like that. Bowles looked tiny in the hospital bed; Catherine bet he was about the same height as herself, on the small side for a man.

  ‘Detective Inspector Knight and Detective Sergeant Bishop,’ Knight said, observing Bowles closely to gauge his reaction. It wasn’t subtle. Bowles grew even paler and shrank back against his pillows.

  ‘Police?’

  ‘Well done,’ Catherine replied.

  ‘But trying to commit suicide isn’t illegal… is it?’

  Knight didn’t reply, just settled himself in the chair at the head of Bowles’ bed. Catherine plonked herself down next to him, set the carrier bag she’d been holding on the floor and opened her notebook. Bowles’ eyes flicked worriedly b
etween them.

  ‘Why are you here? Do I need a solicitor?’

  ‘We just want to have a chat, Mr Bowles.’

  ‘A chat? About what?’

  ‘Why don’t you tell us about Craig Pollard and Steven Kent?’

  Bowles’ face crumpled like that of an unhappy child. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he did nothing to hide or stop them.

  ‘They’re dead,’ Bowles managed to say.

  ‘We know that, Mr Bowles. Why?’ Catherine was curt.

  Bowles glanced quickly around the ward. Of the four beds, only two more were occupied, one by an elderly man who was snoring. In the other, a younger man read a thick paperback.

  ‘I don’t want to talk here. Can’t we go somewhere else?’

  ‘We can have a trip to the police station if that suits you better,’ said Catherine, making as if to stand.

  Bowles protested, ‘I’m ill. I’ve got to stay here.’

  ‘Your doctor’s just told us you can leave when you’re ready.’

  Staring, Bowles said, ‘But that’s rubbish, I’ve only just woken up. How can I go home?’

  ‘Think of it as a miraculous recovery.’ Catherine deliberately sounded bored.

  ‘I’ve got no clothes.’

  Catherine bent down to open the carrier bag, then threw a black tracksuit and plain white T-shirt onto the bed.

  ‘Put these on. We’ll wait.’

  She and Knight stood and a nurse stepped forward to pull the curtains around a stricken David Bowles’ bed. After a few minutes, Bowles reappeared dressed in the tracksuit.

  ‘It’s too big.’ He flapped his arms pathetically, the sleeves hanging over his hands.

  ‘Beggars can’t be choosers, Mr Bowles – haven’t you heard that one?’

  Catherine strode away from the bed, Bowles scurrying along behind her, Knight following.

  ‘I don’t understand why you’re being so awful. I’m ill, I’m…’

  ‘You’re coming with us,’ Catherine said grimly.

  * * *

  In the interview room, Bowles looked terrified, glancing around him as if he expected to be attacked at any second. Perhaps he did. Knight sat quietly opposite Bowles, content to let Catherine do the talking. She entered and placed a plastic cup of water on the table in front of Bowles.

  ‘Thank you.’ His hand shook visibly as he lifted the cup to his lips. ‘Am I… have I been arrested?’

  ‘No, Mr Bowles. You’re just answering some questions.’

  Catherine took the seat next to Knight. Bowles licked his lips.

  ‘Helping with enquiries?’ He risked a smile.

  She nodded. ‘If that’s how you want to describe it.’

  ‘About Craig and Steve?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I didn’t kill them.’

  Catherine forced him to look into her eyes. ‘Can you help us find the person who did?’

  Bowles looked wretched. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why don’t we start at the beginning? How did you know Craig and Steve?’

  They knew Bowles was the man who’d made the anonymous phone call asking for the details of Pollard’s death. Even from the grainy image they had there was no mistaking him.

  ‘I lived near Craig. He knew Steve from somewhere. I don’t know how.’

  ‘You were friends with Craig?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say friends; he wasn’t really the sort of person you were friends with. He was the leader around where we lived. People followed him.’ He swallowed.

  ‘You followed him?’

  Bowles’ head went down. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Did you like Craig?’

  ‘How do you mean, like? I just hung around with him sometimes.’

  ‘When Craig asked you to?’

  ‘I didn’t go with them very often. He… they liked to tease people.’

  ‘They teased you?’ Catherine’s voice was gentler now.

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Craig especially?’

  Bowles glanced at her. ‘Yeah. Everyone joined in, but he always started it.’

  ‘A bully,’ Knight added.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You were in hospital because you took an overdose of paracetamol, Mr Bowles. Could you tell us why you did that?’

  ‘I’d had enough.’

  ‘Enough of what?’

  ‘Of everything. I left a note…’

  ‘I know. I read it.’

  He frowned, confused. ‘How could you have?’

  ‘A colleague and I went to your flat to question you and found you unconscious,’ Catherine said.

  ‘Did you call the ambulance?’

  ‘My colleague did.’

  ‘I wondered who had. I suppose I should thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. In your note, you said,’ Catherine glanced at her notebook, ‘“I’m not going to wait for him to come and get me like he did Craig and Steve”. Who were you referring to?’

  ‘I thought it might be Nick, but now I think it’s the boy from the moor.’

  Catherine paused, startled. ‘Which boy from the moor?’

  Bowles raised his head to meet her eyes. ‘The one whose little brother we killed,’ he said.

  Chapter 55

  As Bowles was led to a cell, Knight and Catherine ducked quickly into the room usually reserved for legal representatives to wait in.

  ‘Well, I wasn’t expecting that,’ Catherine said.

  ‘Seems we’re going to get the full story at last. Is Anna around?’

  ‘Not sure. She went out earlier to talk to Pollard’s parents again.’

  ‘I’ll find out, get her onto checking the records. See if we can start piecing this together. There can’t have been that many people killed on the moor. How have we missed this?’

  ‘No idea, sir. I don’t remember hearing about it before. We don’t know – the body could never have been found.’

  ‘I don’t want Bowles telling us any more yet,’ Knight said.

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Can you make sure the duty solicitor’s on the way? Not that Bowles seems to care. I think he just wants to get it off his chest now. I’ll find DCI Kendrick, bring him up to date too. He’ll probably want to observe. I want you to lead the interview, Catherine.’

  Catherine stared. ‘Okay, sir, if you’re sure.’

  ‘I am. We need to handle Bowles carefully. He’s just recovering from taking an overdose; we don’t want to upset him or traumatise him any more than his story’s going to. Kid gloves all round, unless it’s necessary to change the strategy. I don’t think it will be. I think the floodgates are about to open. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  Knight rushed out of the room. Catherine ran her hands through her hair. This was it, the breakthrough they had been waiting for, and yet it seemed almost an anticlimax. Bowles sitting there, ready to spill his guts, and it was a result of his own suicide attempt, not the hours of work they’d put in. She supposed it was their investigation that had led them to Bowles; if she and Varcoe hadn’t found him they wouldn’t have him here at the station now. She didn’t think he was the man they were looking for, though, and she knew Knight didn’t either, but at the same time, he’d just confessed to a crime they hadn’t even known about until this point. There was the possibility of closing three cases here – the Pollard and Kent murders and the attempted murder of Brady, assuming he survived, the crime Bowles had just admitted, and the people traffickers, if Knight had his way. She felt expectation building, as well as the hope that the case would soon be over. The messages and photos would stop; her house would feel like her own again. The image of Milica Zukic’s shy smile appeared in her mind, and she imagined the faces of Pollard’s children, thought of Kent’s sister, Brady’s parents. There were so many victims in this case, and from what Bowles had said, more to come. Her own mother’s face when she spoke of the child she’d lost… Catherine took out her phone. No messages. She was suddenly desperate
to hear Claire’s voice, for her reassurance, for her to say that however long it took, she would be waiting. Whatever state Catherine was in after this was all over, Claire would still be there. It was so early in the relationship and although the feelings she had were the most intense she had ever experienced, Catherine knew she couldn’t ask so much from Claire this soon. She’d have to do without the pep talk.

  * * *

  With Varcoe and Sullivan trawling the system and Kendrick watching through the two-way mirror, the interview resumed, more formal now, Bowles having been cautioned and with the duty solicitor sitting by his side. Bowles was calm, almost serene, ready to tell his story. The solicitor was a woman about Bowles’ own age, neatly dressed in a navy suit and white shirt. Catherine, now entirely focused on the task in hand, went through the official preliminaries for the recording and began the interview.

  ‘Mr Bowles, when we spoke to you earlier, you mentioned a boy that was killed on the moor. Which moor were you talking about?’

  ‘Laughton Moor. You know, just out of town. We went up there a couple of times. I think Craig and Steve and a few of the other lads went up there quite a lot back then. It was somewhere to have a few drinks, a swim if the weather was warm enough.’

  ‘You’re referring to Craig Pollard and Steven Kent?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, you and Craig and Steve went up onto the moors?’

  ‘I was at home, messing around in the garden, I think. Mum came and said there were some lads asking for me, so I went round to the front and Craig was there. He said I could go with them. I was pleased to be asked, to be honest. I don’t know what it was about Craig; you just wanted him to like you, take notice of you. It was like he was a celebrity round here. I know that sounds stupid, but that’s how it felt. He told me where they were going, that they had some cans of beer, and I took a few bags of crisps from the cupboard as well. It was really warm. I thought it would be like a picnic.’ Bowles attempted a smile.